The Taxxon Chronicles
by Squito
Summary: The Council of Thirteen has sanctioned the slaughter of Taxxons after Visser Three conquers Earth. Will a group of "Taxxon Vandals" help form an alliance between Bandits and Rebels? Or will they bring about their own downfalls?
1. Chapter 1

So, this fic is a different take on the Taxxon rebellion on Earth. Could there have been more motivation for the Taxxon to turn on their Yeerk masters? That kind of dealio. This will probably drift off a bit from the main series, especially near the events in Book 53. Also, some parts may not be politically correct in terms of dialogue.

That aside, please read and enjoy. Alert me if you spot any leftover typos.

Better get back to reading _The Awakening_ now for English...

XxXxX

Chapter One

Hi, my name is Amara Calnicky. Rolls off the tongue, does it not?

If I managed to survive and get this manuscript published, awesome. If not, at least someone stumbled over this text and decided to take time out of their day to skim over the lines a bit. Either way, at least the only memories of me won't consist of an infested family, a birth certificate, and an obituary that probably doesn't even state the real cause of my death. Saying I was eaten by cannibalistic alien worms or shot down with laser beams would only pass in the _Weekly World News._

Anyway, if someone actually is reading this, they might not notice that encircling their eyes peering down at these words are microscopic pests, called follicle mites, feasting on the sebaceous glands located around the eyelashes. One of the little buggers might even be screwing its offspring silly, producing more parasites to dig their needle-like mouths into the reader's flesh just as that person starts to turn a shade of green right now.

Not to be too obvious, but the world is swarming with parasites, great and small, ready to feast upon humans and other prey. Share hats or toilet seats with someone and you might find lice cultivating among your top or bottom hairs, gorging themselves on your blood. Get too close to your kitty's litter box and you'll find Toxoplasma taking up house in your brain, possibly giving your personality a remodeling job. Take a leak in a river in the Amazon and you might want to worry about that pesky, spiny candiru swimming up your...

I think I made my point.

As I said, parasites are everywhere. In the forests, in water, in your urethra. Who's to say there aren't any in outer space?

Well, Yeerks are one of them. They're parasitic worms that burrow through a host's ear and seize control of body and mind, like trematodes do to snails. Don't worry. They don't eat your left eye and lay eggs in your socket. Oh, no, Mother Nature got a little more creative with these creepy crawlers. They seize power over your limbs and mouth and eyes, flick through your memories with the ease of an Internet hacker, while you wander aimlessly in the corners of your mind, observing the Yeerk's work.

To think I actually used to like movies like _Dreamcatcher_ and _The Exorcist_.

They use an organization called the Sharing, which presents itself as a boy/girl scout kind of thing for people of all ages, sexes, religious backgrounds, races, etc. A help clinic to those in need. Do people tease you because you're attracted to the girls in your gym class and call you "carpet muncher"? Sign up! Have trouble making friends and living up to your parents' expectations? Here's a pen! Want to make a difference in your community? Join us!

After joining this, for lack of a better word, cult, they give you a few weeks to decide to become a full member or not. Choose no and, well, too bad, nice knowing ya. Choose yes and have your head dunked into a slate-gray, sludgy pool, with a Yeerk squirming into your ear canal. At least now you won't have to waste money on Q-tips in your house.

Still, it can get depressing.

Which was the exact mood to coincide with tonight's proceedings and scenery. Grassy, rolling hills dotted with cracked, eroded stones with names and dates slowly fading. A few scraggly, leaf-bare oaks and maples, rattling their branches in the chill autumn air. With clouds blanketing the sky above and concealing the moon, shadows constantly spasmed in the flickering beam of my flashlight.

_A midnight stroll in the county graveyard,_ I mumbled. _I feel a little like Buffy. Maybe we should've brought a stake, huh, Ira?_

Ira 737, my Yeerk, groaned at my mild superstition. She wasn't the talkative type, even to her own host except for the occasional _shut up_ and _stupid human_. The only condolence was that she mostly let me chatter on, providing a good, if uninterested, audience for my dwindling sanity. She kept her attention on our surroundings, eyes twitching, turning my head to pick up any stray noises.

Over the past few days, the local news and police department had received reports of vandalism in the graveyard. Some sick bastards were getting their jollies from digging up graves, smashing apart coffins and removing the corpses. So far, none of the bodies had been located, except for the occasional scrap of clothing or strands of hair or a few fingers in one case.

Why did the Yeerks even give a shit about a case of goons having some freaky frat fun? Because apparently the evidence found thanks to perpetrator's carelessness didn't add up. To the humans, anyway.

The broken coffins had what appeared to be the bite marks of a shark on them, as well as sections that had been clamped and crushed in a vise-like device. If the mourners had left any valuables with the cadaver, the vandals hadn't touched them. Just the corpse. Speaking of which, on the confiscated fingers, the cops had found traces of saliva belonging to an animal not on file. If the Yeerks hadn't fudged the evidence and kept the story focused on "vandals", the police would've by now probably found their very first aliens: Taxxons.

It made sense, in a way. The place was practically a buffet to any eternally starving alien, with its endless selection of dead humans buried under some feet of soft, loose soil and locked in breakable wooden containers. Thanks to embalming fluid and modern burial conditions, it can take a couple decades for a body to fully decompose. If the Taxxon isn't picky—and no one has any evidence to the contrary—he'll be in Heaven (or the place closest to it, anyway).

But for God's sake, don't even Taxxons have any kind of conscious? Have respect for the dead? Considering the fact that they eat their wounded, that was a dumb question, but I couldn't help feeling my stomach rise in disgust.

The Yeerks didn't care either way what happened to humans after death, since their own forms disintegrated when their lives expired. No, they worried that a morning jogger or grounds keeper would spot the Taxxon at work, which would mean a lot of explaining to do. An alien invasion can't be kept secret if one of the buggers is gorging himself on rotting Homo sapien.

The mere scuff of my shoes against the pavement of the concrete path crisscrossing throughout the cemetery seemed incredibly loud in the silence. While one hand held the flashlight, the other carried a lump of bloody, chopped beef taken straight out of my fridge. Hopefully the Taxxon would be dawn by the lure, since it wasn't exactly fun holding a wad of cold and slick meat.

Ira stopped near the edge of the road, pulled my lips back, swung my mandible to the side, and screeched a piercing, sharp cry that hurt my own ears. After being a Controller for a year, I'd learned enough dialects like Galard and Hork-Bajir from Ira to make my French teacher proud. Even without a serpentine tongue or tube like maw, Ira managed to shriek the basic Taxxon message of _Food! I found food!_

Calm quietude answered.

Ira repeated the phrase. Nothing.

_Hmm, maybe he just doesn't like my voice. Not reaching the right octave or something,_ I said. _That's what the drama director said last year when I tried out for_ Grease. _Or maybe our friend isn't out tonight. Too cold. I mean, even with this damn hoodie, I'm freezing. You could treat your host—_

_Shut up, human. He's here. He was here six nights in a row, so he doesn't care about the temperature or search parties, _Ira said. _Disappointing, really. He has a bit of celebrity status with this stunt of his. He's pestering the sub-visser for sure._

I decided to bite my tongue (mentally, of course) and keep quiet, despite the sense of alarm rising in me. Some fervent instinct insisted that we hasten my bony butt out of this place. Something really was off. Taxxons were ravenous, merciless, even borderline moonbat crazy, but they weren't stupid. He should have known his nightly feasting would be noticeable. So, why hadn't he burrowed his way from the nearby woods and gorged himself content privately? Or, if seclusion wasn't the goal, why hadn't he chosen a fresher, fleshier banquet at a local bar or restaurant closed for the evening?

As intelligent as the worms were, they usually weren't unpredictable. What could this bugger be thinking? Unless he wanted to be tracked and caught, which would be his execution in short time at the mouths of his own brethren. Unless...

_You over think things,_ Ira mumbled. _Very distracting_.

_Good old human instincts and paranoia,_ I said.

_Just a worm, Amara, _Ira said.

_Says a worm that is slowly colonizing the planet through quiet imperialism,_ I said.

The Yeerk mulled that over, ready to toss more comments, but the toe of my shoe tapped against a stiff, bristly sphere that rolled forward at the touch. I wanted so badly to control my eyelids, to close them against the sight that would surely follow. _That skull had a tongue in it and could sing once._

Not bothering to check where I'd pulled that quote from, Ira lowered the flashlight, following the object's revolving and revolting progress. Whew. Not a decapitated head, much to my relief. Instead, a gray and black, curled up raccoon carcass with a couple bites taken out of it. Fresh carrion, too, from looking at the swath of red it left in its wake.

_Huh, maybe he is picky,_ I said, disbelieving. A Taxxon abandoning his meal? What the hell?

Ira searched the surrounding area for the telltale signs of our friend. Dew laden grass and damp earth had easily kept track of our steps from the concrete path. The needle-legs of a Taxxon should've left clear pit holes but nothing besides a couple tombstones and stretches of bare earth could be seen within five feet of us.

_Wonderful. Our pal is a ghost,_ I said. _Maybe he phased through a tree and is laughing his toothy maw at our expense._ I groaned. _Fuck, it's cold. Can we go? He left. Had to._

Or not. A sticky, wet whip wrapped itself around the wrist carrying the bait. Ira yelped and spun on my heel, staring at the red tongue that had penetrated though the soil of the graves, possibly two-and-a-half feet in length.

Now, despite constant volunteer activities at the Sharing, Ira had kept my wiry butt in shape though daily jogs in my neighborhood and joining my school's swim team (possibly a connection to her own liquid environment). I wasn't exactly a champ, but Ira liked to keep her hosts ready for a possible quarrel.

And I couldn't win a tug-of-war match with a tongue.

Kinda pitiful.

The Taxxon's appendage yanked us off my feet, pulling us toward it at an astonishing speed, and bashed my shoulder against the grave marking. Ira gasped as the tongue uncoiled and disappeared, the token of meat with it.

Grimacing, Ira reached for the Dracon beam she'd tied to the belt loop of my jeans. Grasping the weapon, my peripheral vision caught the movement of the Taxxon emerging from the earth like one of those beasts from _Tremors_. He shook a cascade of dirt from his reeking form, pelting us with flying clods. He lapped at the rim of his mouth, cocking two of the four faceted, gleaming eyes at us.

Grinding my teeth, Ira raised the Dracon beam and aimed it at his bulbous head. "I think I've had enough fun playing Hide-and-Peek," she said.

_Seek,_ I muttered.

_Quiet,_ she snapped. She rubbed my now throbbing shoulder. "Any harder and you might have broken my host's clavicle."

The Taxxon simply regarded us with his expressionless gaze. I didn't like it.

Ira snorted. "Don't hear an apology, but can't expect one from a Taxxon. Are you empty or infested? What's your rank, if you have one besides that smell?"

The Taxxon tapped his head and mumbled a few shrill syllables. Free. No rank. Merely a technician, he added, twisting some pincers in emphasis. Taxxons spoke through not only the pitch and pattern of their voices, but gestures as well if that wasn't clear.

"What was the point of this?" Ira asked, indicating the grave diggings with a wave of my hand at the cemetery. "I had a Taxxon host before and he usually preferred fresh meat to corpses. Not much appeal in the smell for one."

Instead of answering, the Taxxon scrambled further out of his hole and reached forward with a dozen crustacean arms. Ira tread backwards, only to catch my heel on the very rodent that had revealed his spot. She pulled the trigger of the Dracon beam, but the Taxxon, nimble for its number of limbs, ducked to the side. The red lance of light and energy burned a patch of flesh on his back. Nothing mortal.

Before Ira could regain her footing, a pincer clamped down on my gun-slinging arm, crushing it until I could practically feel my ulna and radius ready to snap, and Ira dropped the Dracon beam. Another grabbed my other arm at the wrist and she deposited the flashlight as well. It clattered against the gravestone and bounced down the hilly plain of grass.

More and more arms grasped my legs, abdomen, and hips, pressing my back against his chest? belly? stomach? and he tentatively wrapped his fang-bedazzled mouth over the right side of my face. Ira and I squirmed and flailed in equal measure, ignoring the pressure of his claws that could have cracked and pulverized every bone in my body, but to no avail. Did he want to savor animated meal? Something that could struggle while he nibbled on muscle and ripped apart tendons?

"What in the Kandrona's light are you doing? Release me or the sub-visser will have you tossed into a vat of sulfuric acid! Or burn your intestines in—ah!" Ira's threats melted into a panic stricken scream. I could practically feel the slug slithering across my cerebrum.

The Taxxon's prehensile tongue flitted against the shell of my ear, over the curve of my cheek, and returned to the back of its throat with a loud slurp. Metallic, malodorous waves of the mixed smells of blood and decayed meat breezed past my nose. I choked back bile and closed watering eyes. What would be left of me? The hood of my sweatshirt? The zipper of my jeans? My shoelaces?

When I though my skull would implode from the increasing pressure of the Taxxon's mouth closing over my head, he started...sucking? The teeth sank deeper into my hair and brow and cheek and neck as he tilted his head from side-to-side. I didn't have any idea what he wanted to accomplish, but Ira apparently did, gyrating in the Taxxon's grasp and trying to bite at the slimy lip encircling my face.

"I'll kill you! Destroy you! Let me go! Let me go!" she snapped, spittle flecking my lower lip. "I'll kill you, I'll kill you, I'll kill..." Her words became slightly repetitive.

And then... Pain ricocheted in my cranium as the Taxxon sped up his efforts, flicking his tongue at my ear's pinna, lapping at the fleshy dish. My mind flickered and slowly panned out, filtering images at a ridiculously laggard pace. Loosening. More pain. Slimy, wet. Screams and wails. Not mine. Maybe a bit. Eyes rolling, jaw trembling. Emptiness.

My knees and forearms smashed against the grassy turf. I gritted my molars against each other and arched my back up, my limbs clumsily following. My sight continued to waver and juggle objects against one another. Oh God. I crouched back down and vomited, retching more at the scent of my own stomach acids splashing back at me. Coughing, I swiped a hand over my mouth and turned my head.

Of my own volition.

My captor, a mere gray grub, dangled at the tip of the Taxxon's tongue, writhing in the open air and probably drenched with terror. I watched horrified, disgusted, smugly as the Taxxon pulled the Yeerk past his ever-hungry jaws and into one of several stomachs.

Jittery, I crawled away, reaching for the Dracon beam. This time the bloated centipede paid me no heed. Given the choice, I would have collapsed then and there, but a kick of adrenaline and selfish survival instincts forced me to my feet and I kept the weapon firmly placed on the Taxxon. He stared at me, but blankly this time, no hidden intent, as if to ask, _What now?_

"How should I know? You're the one who set this all up. Whatever _this_ is," I said, answering the unasked question. I thumbed at the laser's setting. "Just so you know, I have Ebola. And tuberculosis. And MRSA. And maybe even avian flu. I'm a walking health hazard, so you'll at least get indigestion."

The Taxxon cocked his head to the side. Probably wondering how much more BS I could spew in five minutes.

I sized him up, wondering whether he'd snatch me again and try to devour me. He was actually kind of puny for a Taxxon, now that I took the time to notice it. Eight feet long, not the usual ten footer. Still too large to wrap your arms around, not that the usual sane person would. Still able to overpower your average sixteen-year-old smart ass. "What do you want? A thank you doesn't sound like the sort of thing you guys go for."

The Taxxon clicked his pincers and hissed. I stared, clueless. He repeated the movements and noise, and the subconscious part of my mind that had picked up on conversations between Ira and other Yeerks translated for my clueless conscious half. Can you understand me? Know what I say?

"Yes," I said. "Mostly." Either way, the current situation told me I had better know or else. "What would have happened if I hadn't known?"

He licked his teeth. Eat you. I would eat you and wait for another host to appear until I found one that understood my tongue.

"If I'd disappeared, an entire Yeerk force would've searched for you then," I said.

He grinned. Or at least that's how I perceived it. Very glad you know then.

"Yep, well, if you ever need someone for a game of I Spy or Charades, I'm up for it," I said. "Again, thanks." I started inching away from the Taxxon, back toward the pavement path Ira had taken down here. "Hope your crypt feasting goes well. Write a recipe book. Back Fat Cracklin', Ginger Kid Snaps, Cajun Man Cuisine, all the possibilities."

I don't care for conversation, the Taxxon shrieked. I need a bilingual host for a... He growled and scratched the ground with his lobster-like legs in thought. Discussion between allies. Of a sort.

"Sounds wonderful, Tax—what's your name?" I asked. "You guys don't have individual names. Forgot. Worm, then. Worm, what do you need?"

The Taxxon, or Worm, since he didn't seem offended by the title, narrowed his eyes. The Yeerks want to eliminate my species.

"Oh," I said, my foot touching the smooth, cracked surface of the road.

Worm started to say something else, but I squeezed the trigger of the Dracon beam, blasting a good section of dirt and plant life into scattered atoms before the Taxxon. "Ssshhrriiyaa!" He skittered backwards, waving his dozens of arms at the flying debris.

Me? I ran like hell for home.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Flapping my arms. Tugging my hair. Jumping jacks. Belting out the lyrics to _Bamboogie._ After I'd made enough distance to consider myself safe for the moment (betting on the fact that a Taxxon wouldn't be dumb enough to chase me into human-drenched territory), I took every possible advantage of my reestablished freedom. Any late night insomniac would think I was just your everyday full moon lunatic, but not dangerous enough for a call to the police. No one knew I was free, a dog off its leash, a bird out of its cage...

Ah, tonight was bringing the poet out of me.

Street curbs. Empty soda cans. Tree roots. When Ira had taken hold of the reins, I'd forgotten about the hilarious little obstacles that one with common sense needed to watch. Every time I took my eyes off the ground, one of my feet caught onto something and I'd plummet face first to the pavement. Didn't matter. I raised one scraped, bloody palm up toward the clouds and laughed. I was the one being clumsy, not a Yeerk. Just me.

In between the erratic movements of my limbs, my constant tripping, and singing the chorus of an Offspring song, I would have made quite a spectacle had either of my parents been home. Thankfully, Ira had chosen this night because they'd gone to a Halloween party hosted by some of dad's partners from work. I wouldn't see them until well into the next morning.

Too bad. Probably was better that they didn't see their daughter acting like a wackjob on the front lawn, lying down and waving her arms and legs as though she was making snow angels.

Grabbing the house key from my back pocket, I sauntered into the place, removing my hoodie and shoes, and went up to my room. A bed, desk and computer, dresser, and stereo. Nothing too interesting, except for the pictures I'd taped to my walls, quite a few of them taken over the last year. Like trophies, as most contained former friends I'd brought to the Sharing.

I cranked the stereo to its loudest volume, my body almost vibrating from the sound waves, and started tearing them off, ripping the photos into tinier and tinier pieces. I tossed them like confetti across my room, gathered them up, and did it again. Lather, rinse, repeat. It helped curb some guilt.

Finally, I slumped down on my desk's chair, tapping a fingernail against its arm. Music continued to blare, photo fragments littered my carpet, the room mostly looked the same. What to do? Ira hadn't been one to collect mementos. No writings or artwork she'd made, no certificate of honor or whatever from the Yeerk military, no plants from the homeworld. Much as I'd joked about it, she hadn't even slipped a copy of _The Prince _into my book collection. The only souvenir I had of captivity was the Dracon beam sitting innocently on my desk and I didn't want to destroy _that_.

That left one question: what now? Sure, liberation was awesome, but I couldn't pretend that an invasion wasn't happening. Also, Worm would find me sooner or later, I was positive about it, and he'd no doubt want me to repay my debt. What was it that he'd said before I'd skedaddled? His species was in trouble?

Well, mine was too. I glanced down at the photo scraps, then back at the Dracon beam. It looked so guiltless, like a toy from a yard sale except for its distinctive silver sheen. A forward-facing, triangular muzzle atop a smooth cylinder containing the energy fuel cell and precious stones that focused the beam. Against the back of this device, a Teflon-coated grip with the setting dial on the apex and trigger in front.

A steel beauty, if weapons could be considered beautiful. Powerful, too, able to blast through titanium walls and fry Hork-Bajir into spare atoms. A mercenary would drool at the sight.

Aha! That's it! I wouldn't be paid (not too many customers in the silent alien takeover), so a vigilante then. I could be the Boondocks Saint of Pennsylvania, except I wouldn't kill them. The host anyway. I'd stun the person, drag them off to some obscure location, wait three days, and _ding!_ have a couple ally. Build up my numbers until I had a formidable force. Maybe even some Hork-Bajir thrown in if I was lucky.

But... What about when the Dracon beam ran out of power? I couldn't just waltz into Radio Shack and buy a new power cell. When would the Yeerks start to notice their host supply draining? I'd been about as important as the toilet scrubber at the White House, but sooner or later someone would notice the septic tank about to explode. How could I transport an unconscious individual unnoticed? _Sorry, folks, have to borrow your son for a few days. Why? See, there's this slug in his head and I have to starve it out. Whaddya mean did I forget my Ritalin today?_

Hell, what if I missed my target and he reported my identity to the Yeerk authorities? Or, if I did manage to free people, would they even help me? Could I trust them? Worm had risked discovery and death to free me in order to have a comrade for whatever campaign he had planned and I'd run out on him. How many Amara Calnickys might there be in my presumed future team?

I reached into one of my desk's drawers and pulled out a crumpled pack of Marlboros. Ira had kept me away from the cancer sticks to optimize my health and life expectancy. I shoved that thought aside. Did I have to keep dwelling on that? She was now immersed in hydrochloric acid in a Taxxon's gut. I wouldn't have to see her again. I fumbled for a lighter, lit the cigarette, and took a hasty puff.

Maybe I could start with non-Controllers? No, that was worse. They might not take it seriously enough and let their lips slip at the wrong moment. Or get themselves killed during a mission (doing what, I still needed to figure out). Or just call me crazy.

Alert the media? Provide proof with the Dracon beam and locations of Yeerk Pools, watch mass hysteria unfold, and... Or I could try to find that so-called Yeerk Peace Movement? Ha, may as well go to California and search for the Andalite Bandits. What the heck could I provide to either besides a security risk? Or I could... Um...

I leaned back in my seat, craned my neck back, and blew smoke towards my ceiling. Watched wispy coils tangle and compress and dissipate. Like the random half-formed plans drifting through my head. I flicked ash across my desk. I'd clean it up later.

I needed help. I mean, a lone girl with a Dracon beam against the Yeerk armada? As if.

Maybe if I got some sleep I'd think of a coherent plan. My head still spun from the slobbery Taxxon version of a lobotomy, minus the ice pick. In fact, Worm was starting to look like the only being I could trust. Damn. Smart move running out on him, huh?

I stamped the cigarette into the wooden desk, leaving a charred, black smudge.

xxx

Morning. A great time of day to start off with a great breakfast. Or at least as far as flaky eggs, charcoal bacon, and burnt toast could qualify as great. Despite my Italian heritage, I had yet to stumble upon the set of genes that would make me a culinary artist. Nuke one lousy waffle in the microwave at the age of eleven and your dreams of chefdom are over...

So far most of the room was intact, which had to be a sign that good things were soon to come. I'd woken up early sometime around seven. Why waste freedom on the snooze cruise? I'd chosen the simple plan: call up possible friends. Check to see if they'd joined the Sharing and what their opinions were of it. Ask to meet with them, tell about the Yeerks, and see where it went from there. Risky and possibly foolish, but I'd make it work. Just think of it as a job interview. _Hey, wanna fight interstellar parasites? The pay's lousy as shit, but it'll look great on a r__é__sum__é__ one day when you're applying for undercover government work. Or, more likely, werewolf hunting._

Lugging my plate of partially edible food to the kitchen table, I picked up the cordless phone and thumbed the first number to come to mind. _Ring, ring, riiing_. "Hi, you've reached the Carson residence. Sorry we can't come to the phone—" _Click._ Nope. I dialed another. And another. Lots of answering machines.

"For Pete's sake, someone please pick up. Son of a..." I spit out a string of expletives, my thumb a blur over the buttons. "Dammit. Someone wake up. C'mon, you stupid, lazy, moronic, insipid, asinine pieces of—"

Crackling. "Y'ello?" A disgruntled yawn.

"Jerome!" I said, digging a fork into my scrambled eggs. "Thank God you picked up!"

"Whuh?" Another yawn. "Amara, that you? Ugh. Do you know what time it is?"

"Eight-oh-seven A.M.," I said, glancing at the kitchen clock. "Listen, I need you—"

"No," he said. "How'd you know I was up at the cabin?"

"Already called your house and cell phone," I said. "Don't interrupt me this time. I need to know your opinion about the Sharing. What're your thoughts on it?"

A pause. Creak of bed springs. Shuffling on the other line. "You called me to ask about that club you joined Freshman year?" Another yawn. "You aren't trying to brainwash me into it, are you?"

"Brainwash is right." I grinned and laughed, gobbling up another forkful of eggs and bacon.

"Are you chewing on gravel over there?" Jerome asked.

"I decided to cook myself a healthy breakfast," I said.

"I've got Poison Control Center on speed dial," he said. "Wait, I thought you loved the Sharing. Oh, Jerome, we're so equal here. I'm such a wonderful person now. Don't mind that none of us know where the funding comes from or—"

"Okay, okay. I get it," I muttered, scraping my fork against my plate, leaving scratch marks. "I've changed my tune for the better."

"_Wellp_, that's dandy," Jerome said. "Are you calling to invite me over to celebrate after you shunned everyone who didn't follow your Sharing charade? I seem to have this nagging memory about you spending every God dang moment with your cult. If anyone dared to scoff at the Sharing, you'd flip out."

"I've got some explaining to do, I know," I said. "Just come to my place tomorrow. Please?"

"No."

"C'mon, please. We're pals, buddies, friends. Peas in a pod."

"Amara—"

"Please, Jerome, it's important. Seriously, I wouldn't badger and beg unless I no alternative to... I can't say now. We were friends all through grade and middle school. Can I have another chance?" Had this been a visual communication, I would've knelt on the floor and kissed the tiled surface before the screen.

"Shaddup," he snapped. "You're worse than Lazarus." Sigh, a bit of swearing. "I'll swing by after church, okay? Better be good." _Click._

I stared dumbly at the phone. Sighed and placed my dish and utensil in the sink. Where would be the best place to tell him? Here? Wine red walls covered in little paintings depicting overweight chefs at work and displaying delicious delights. Broad counter tops on either side of the sink, piled over with recipe books, a blender, knife rack, mixer, and bread basket. Pots and pans hanging from hooks in the ceiling.

Could I discuss an invasion in here? I played the scenario in my mind: Jerome walked in, impatient and suspicious, and sat down beside me. I'd have pizza (delivered, of course) and some soda from the fridge. Tap, tap. We'd chat about idle things, repairing our friendship. Say the usual boring stuff you might see in a B-rated high school flick. Tap. Then I'd drop the Y-bomb and... _Tap, tap, tap_.

What in the world? I swiveled my head toward the glass door facing the backyard patio. Like the kitchen, my mom had put hard effort into setting it up. However, I didn't take time to admire the homemade hummingbird feeders, nor the pots of cooking herbs.

Just the Taxxon knocking at the door oh-so-politely in broad daylight. Registering my attention, he widened his mouth in greeting.

"Worm—yah!" My chair toppled backwards, taking me for the ride. My head slammed against the floor. Wincing, I rubbed the sore spot and ambled cautiously toward the door, unlatching the lock, and sliding it open. What? Worm could've easily broken the glass barrier and I didn't need my neighbors getting curious about the commotion. "Ah." I bit my lip, my head starting to throb.

The Taxxon slithered inside, legs clicking against the tiled floor. He hissed and made a few sweeping, jerky gestures. It was not my intention for you to fall.

"Is that an apology?" I asked. Possibly the closest thing to it, since _sorry_ wasn't in the Taxxon dialect as far as I knew. I leaned against the counter. "How did you find me so quickly? I know Taxxons have a good sense of smell, but I didn't think you make it this far in town. Garbage and other lovely odors. And in daylight, too!" I groaned.

Before I removed your Yeerk, she tried to threaten me by telling me her name. Said that she was important, Worm said, snuffling at the air. Hungry as always, no doubt. I checked your file on the Yeerk database. Found the address and dug my way here. He fixated all four red eyes on my green ones. Do you have anything to consume?

When a Taxxon directly inquired about food, it was usually a good idea to appease his appetite as soon as possible. I checked the fridge, where there was still another package of raw bacon. I ripped the plastic off and tossed the slab of salty meat to his waiting claws. "How'd you free me?"

So many questions. He gulped down the bacon in two bites and licked his pincers. On the Yeerk homeworld, there is a creature called a Yeerkbane. Real name I couldn't translate without writing material. It uses a tube-like mouth like my own to... suck Yeerks from hosts' heads. He screeched without gestures accompanying it. Chuckling, maybe? I tried it once before through a host's nose, but accidentally removed the brain too.

"How hilarious." My stomach turned inside my abdomen. What if he'd tried that method again last night? I shook my head. Better not dwell on that. "Can you do it again? Build up your team? I'm not exactly the best choice for a lackey. Thanks for the freedom, though."

Very difficult. Fangs pressed against warm, helpless, living flesh... Very hard to resist, very tempting, Worm said. Most of my people would have taken a nibble and arm by then. More screeching.

So what made this guy different? I'd ask that later. "Why _did_ you free me?"

I already explained that. The Yeerks will eradicate my people, Worm said.

"What? Now?" I asked.

Soon, Worm said. For now, we both need to leave this residence.

"Whoa, whoa, wait. You should choose someone else. I don't know what you want, but there're probably far better humans out there," I said. "I couldn't even figure out what to do with my own freedom last night. How the heck can I help you?"

You only have to act as a diplomat. The Taxxon lashed his tongue and reared his upper body higher, gnashing his teeth before my face, then said, Hurry. Your time is limited.

"Whuh-what do you mean?" I asked.

I do not trust human fidelity. Your response to my actions last night gave weight to my suspicions. Even if you _had_ agreed to join me, some creatures need prompting, Worm said. Before I dug my way here, I left a message for the sub-visser to find. The Taxxon looked at the kitchen clock. He should respond soon.

It was eight twenty-six now. Had Worm terminated my life already? Or did I still have time to pray that his message vanished in the depths of cyberspace, never to be seen? Worm watched patiently, blankly, as I trembled, unsure if I was going to scream or cry. Damn Taxxon... Wordlessly, I grabbed a knife off the rack and jumped at the alien, ready to carve away that ugly face.

"Screeep!" Worm ducked my first swipe, retaliating with a swinging set of pincers. I crouched down on the balls of my feet. Leaped for the soggy, baggy flesh and slashed effortlessly through it. Like the cliché, knife through butter. I raised the blade again and thrust at one of the spindle-shaped legs. The knife scraped against the exoskeleton covering it, not as satisfying a result. Worm hissed.

"Ah!" I twisted my blade-wielding hand, wrist trapped in the vice of a pincer. I kicked at his stomach, tried to push myself away with one free arm. "How could you? What'll happen? To me? My home? My parents?"

Worm held me far enough away to speak with his other claws. You will be reinfested. They might destroy the house trying to recapture you here. Your... progenitors will become hosts too.

"Them too?" I snarled. "Fuck! Fuck you! Fuck the Yeerks! Why can't you freaks leave me alone?" I shrieked. "Leave my parents alone!"

Are humans usually this bonded to their progenitors? Worm inquired, confused. He released me, leaving a plum-colored ring around my wrist. No time now. He cocked his head at me, pausing in thought. Your progenitors may be safe if you leave before they return.

I stood, ashamed that I couldn't stop the tears now blurring my vision. It always happened when I got ticked off. "Okay, alright. I'll be back down soon. We'll go and you'll tell me what the hell we're doing." Shuddering, I ran past him and up the stairs, into my room.

Couldn't I even have twenty-four hours to enjoy life again? I set the knife beside the Dracon beam and searched under my bed, pulling out an old, ratty backpack. Gave it one glance and dumped it on the bed, followed by myself. My fingers gripped the blanket, knuckles pale and stark white compared to my wrist's bruise.

It was so quiet, with only the slight breeze coming through the crack of my open window that I almost didn't notice the scratch of tires on pavement. Mom? Dad? I peeked out the window. A police cruiser rolled up my driveway, with two uniformed officers inside. There was no short joke or banter between them as they left the vehicle and slammed the doors shut with a loud smack. Just an ominous silence that spoke volumes, even more so than the glint of silver peeking out from their holsters.

Worm wasn't kidding. Better get my butt into gear.

I took the cases off my pillows, stuffed the Dracon beam into one, wrapped it up, and crammed it into the bottom of the bag. I picked up the knife, staring at the blade, sticky with Taxxon goo. Tossed it up into the air, watched it spin, and caught it by the handle. Toss, watch, catch. I shrugged and placed it beside the alien weapon. Clothes, money from a dresser drawer, other menial items went in haphazardly. Fingers twitching, I finally grabbed a spare notebook and half a dozen pens from my desk.

I shouldered the load and reluctantly tread back to the kitchen, glaring at my liberator and captor. Could I run? Yeah, but where would I go? Better to trail behind the devil if he was the only one who knew the way through Pandemonium and the Void.

Which, truth be told, didn't mean I'd escape. Still, it helped my bravado when I heard knuckles hitting wood. From the sound of it, I had a minute before the Controllers got serious and simply barreled it, knocking the door off its hinges.

Worm either didn't notice or care about my resentment, giving the shouting officers only a fraction more so of attention. He shuffled his way back onto the patio and toward the moonflowers my mom had planted two summers ago, their white blossoms wilted and limp from the autumn season. Goosebumps broke out across my arms. I pulled a hoodie from my pack and slipped it on. Worm stooped his upper half underneath the bushes, crawling toward a sizable hole in the earth.

"Mom's going to be pissed," I muttered. I snorted. _Why do I even care about the flowers? If I end up in Yeerk custody again, Worm and I will end our days pushing up daisies._

Even back here, I could hear the sudden crack of my flimsy front door caving in. Hope Dad had some sort of insurance for that.

I hunched over and crawled on all fours toward where the giant centipede slowly disappeared into the hole, quiet except for the noisy consumption of soil and plant roots. Looking at the damp outer ring of the hole, I remembered at that moment that Taxxons had to expel the dirt as quickly as they ate it. What comes in must come out.

And with that lovely thought and the sound of men ransacking my house, I disappeared down the rabbit hole like a piece of crap down a toilet bowl.

XxXxX

Action should pick up in the next few chapters. I was wondering, should I have some in Worm's POV? I don't think I've seen more than two stories with a Taxxon's perspective. (shrug) Enjoy and please leave your thoughts!


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